


Brown Hair and A Golden Boot

by BlackSlytherin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airport Harry, Bottom Louis, Cowbell sucks, Everyone thinks Harry is a spy but he's not, Golden Boot, Harry Plays Violin, Implied Sexual Content, Kind of Secret Agent Harry, Louis seduces Harry, Louis wears a backless shirt and Harry loses his mind, M/M, Minor Character Death, Singer Harry Styles, Spy Louis, Top Harry, because i know nothing about spies, secret agent AU, secret agent louis, spy AU, very unrealistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSlytherin/pseuds/BlackSlytherin
Summary: « Do we kill him ? » It’s Grimshaw again. Fucking annoying.« Not yet. Want to see what he’s made of first, » Winston dismisses him, much to Louis’ pleasure. « It’s his eyes, » he adds, looking at the picture of Harry displayed on the screen. « They betray him. »Louis looks at his eyes. He just finds them sweet.____________Or, Harry is mistaken for a secret agent, he wears one golden boot, and Louis is in charge of getting information out of him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while, huh?  
> I know I currently have an unfinished fic from a year ago, but I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with it so it's on pause for the moment.  
> However, I started getting a lot of ideas lately, and one of these ideas came out as this little fic right here. Not really an original idea, though, because it's inspired from an iconic old French movie "Le Grand Blond avec une Chaussure Noire" (The Tall Blond with a Black Shoe). Hope you'll like it, feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> TPWK.

_Somewhere in New York_

« You were arrested in New York while trying to go through customs with fourty kilos of heroin in your car. Is that right? »

It’s a small room, with no windows and a closed door. There is only one light, but it’s shining bright, white and blinding. In the center of the room sits a man. His hands are chained to the chair, he’s wearing a headset full of cables that are all linked to a device next to him. The device has a small screen with a line that keeps on moving up and down and beeps regularly. A man is sat before it, transcribing the heart rates – because that’s what the line is.

Around them, three more men are standing up. They’re all looking at the chained man, who takes his time before answering the question.

« Yes. »

« It checks, » the man sitting in front of the detector says.

« I asked to be tested with a lie detector because I’m telling the truth. » His accent clashes with the rest of the people in the room. He doesn’t sound American.

« And you still maintain that you’re not a narcotic smuggler? » one of the men who are standing up asks.

« No. I’m not a narcotics smuggler. » His voice is steady.

« It checks. »

« Then who are you working for? »

« I work for my country’s counter espionage service. I came to the United Stated in a mission. I’m not a smuggler, » he repeats.

« What kind of mission? »

« It was the Head of my service who asked me to smuggle the drugs to the US. He must take responsibility for the case. I’m innocent, » he adds.

The detector goes crazy.

* * *

_Somewhere in London…_

There is a knock on the door. Simon Cowell looks up from the files on his desk, sitting straight. He looks briefly to Corden, standing at his right, before answering.

« Yes? Come in. »

The door to his office opens. Cowell greets the newcomer with a nod. He doesn’t bother to stand up for him, stays sat behind his desk. The man seems to wait for a few seconds, but he gets only silence, and stays awkardly up.

« You came back early from your holidays, sir, » he manages to say. His tone is polite, wary.

« Sit down. » His voice is harsh.

He sits, brows furrowed. This time, he can’t get himself to say anything.

« What’s this bullshit, Winston? » Cowell asks, and he throws the files on the other side of the desk for the man – Winston – to see. Inside, dozens of pictures of a car packed with drugs, and then other pics of a man from various angles.

« I wouldn’t know, sir. I saw it in the press, just like everyone. I was extremely shocked.» He doesn’t look it.

Corden is following the exchange with a slight smile. He seems amused.

« Someone is trying to pin it on me, » Cowell says. « This little smuggler pretends he’s working for my service. And as he’s not working for me… »

« And as he’s not working for me either, » Winston swiflty adds.

« Then who is he working for? »

« I don’t know, sir. »

There’s a silence. Corden’s smile only grows bigger.

« This could cost me my job, Ben. » Cowell states. He doesn’t look worried, mostly stating facts. « You’d be the one taking my place as Head of the service if I was to be sacked. »

« Whoever your replacement is, sir, I’m sure they would pursue your actions with the same spirit and faith you had. »

« Have. »

« Have, of course, » he corrects himself with an apologetic smile.

« This little trafficker… You’ve never seen him before? »

« Never, sir. »

Right then, Cowell pulls up another picture and puts it in Winston’s face. It shows Ben Winston and the smuggler presumably laughing together. They’re sat at a table with some other people, and look close enough to invalidate his last words.

« It’s photoshopped, » he says, without missing a beat.

« Photoshopped, » Cowell repeats. He doesn’t seem to believe it in the slightest. « Possible. Really unclockable, I might say, but possible. »

Another silence sits between them as he starts drawing on the picture, adding features to Winston’s face. Glasses. A moustache. A beard. Devil’s horns.

« Well I guess there is nothing more to say, then. You can go back to work, » he dismisses him, but not before handing him the picture.

* * *

The second he leaves the office, Winston gets a cab. He gets out a few minutes later and gets into an electronics shop. No one seems to notice him. He passes by a man, stops for less than a second to say _« I fucked up the car plan »_ and keeps walking. The man pushes a switch hidden under a table, and there’s a sound of a door unlocking. 

Winston walks into the back of the shop. There, another man is sitting in front of a screen. He’s wearing headphones and listening to what seems like a recording.

As soon as he sees him, he gets up and lets him sit, unplugging the headphones so the recording is on speakers.

« He just got home, sir, » the man says. Winston dismisses him with a sign of his hand. The door opens behind them, and a third person enters the room. It’s the same man from the entrance of the shop.

« The shop is closed, sir. We took care of the last customers. » He says, tone flat.

Winston barely listens, mumbles a « Thank you, Tomlinson. » and raises the volume.

* * *

« How were your holidays, sir? » Corden asks. They’re both standing in the middle of Cowell’s flat.

« They were great. Really great. And so, so calm, I think I needed the rest. »

As he’s talking, he walks to the living room, placing his hand on what looks like speakers. Just as he finishes his sentence, he presses one of the buttons and his voice emerges from the speakers, clear as day. 

« I’m glad I took your advice on going south, these places had a lot to offer,» the speakers continue his own sentence, as if he never stopped talking. He mimics to James not to speak and walks around the room. The speakers are still blasting his own voice, telling about his holidays, as he walks to one of the statues in the corner of the room. It represents some greek divinity he forgot the name of. He acquired it many years ago and had it polished and put in his living room.

He pulls one eyelid up, and it follows, much to Corden’s surprise. Statues just don’t have mobile eyelids. When he looks closer, he finally sees it. There is a mic hidden in there.

Still without a word, he walks him through the room, stopping every once in a while before a random statue or painting and showing him yet another mic. It seems like they are everywhere. Finally, he walks out to the balcony, his assistant closely following him. It’s only when the balcony’s door is closed that they can talk again.

« He stuffed your house, now? A car full of drugs, mics in the statues, seems like nothing can stop him. »

« The car thing is probably him, but I can’t prove it. I found the mics by pure coïncidence. It’s good work. »

« Why, though? »

« He tried to pin it on me, he’s probably expecting me to react. It’s kind of pleasing to imagine him sitting in from of his wiretap, scared like a chicken. He deserves a lesson. »

He walks back inside. The record is still playing.

« Dinner had been absolutely amazing, though, » his voice says from the speakers, « The dessert was heavenly, you were right about that. »

He stops the recording then, and when he speaks his voice is loud and clear.

« But I haven’t called for you simply to tell you about my holidays, have I? There is an important matter I need to tell you about. See, I’m expecting a guest soon, he lands tomorrow morning. »

« Yes sir. »

« This man should help us find out the truth about this regrettable American story. I expect you to greet him. »

« Of course, sir. »

« I do wish, however, that the service wouldn’t be informed of this. »

« Of course, sir. »

« This man will probably be in need of protection. For his safety, bring Payne and Malik with you, I trust them with my life. »

He feels like saying another variant of « Yes sir » would be too much, so he just nods. Cowell continues.

« 9 :30, at the airport. Don’t miss him, James, it’s important. And, of course, top secret. »

« Got it, sir. »

« Do you like italian food? »

« What? » The topic change takes him by surprise.

« I know a little restaurant accross the street, it’s exquisite. Let me take you there. »

Cowell smiles ever so slightly as they leave the house. He knows that Winston is somewhere at the moment, listening to their conversation, and possibly freaking out. He’s right.

« This man, » James asks as they walk down the street, finally free from the mics. « Who is he? »

« I don’t know. »

« I’m sorry? »

« Just go to the airport tomorrow, and pick someone. »

« I… don’t get it. »

« Pick someone, anyone, as random and average as possible. Who you choose has no importance whatsoever. What matters is that W. bites the hook. It’s just a fools trap. »

* * *

_The morning after_

« The guy we’re supposed to protect, who is it? » Payne asks.

He’s wearing a black shirt, black pants and black shoes. Next to him, Malik is dressed just the same, except for a leather jacket he throws on top.

« You don’t need to know, » Corden answers, « You’ve just got to keep an eye on him. »

They walk into the airport. What follows is almost unnoticeable. Sitting in one of the Starbucks table, a man looks up from his phone. His eyes follow them for a second before turning to his right, locking with a pair of piercing blue eyes hidden by a pair of aviators. Tomlinson. He walks behind the three men, making sure to keep a safe enough distance between them.

**« ARRIVING FROM MUNICH, ENTRANCE N° 289, GATE N°18 »**

The travelers start getting out the door. As James watches them, Cowell’s words start playing in his head. _Anyone_.

He sees a group of musicians. A father of three (Payne and Malik ask him if it’s him, and he says it’s not). A bunch of women chatting loudly. Another woman. Couples. Families. The line gets thinner, and after a few minutes there’s no one left. Is that all ?

One last man seems to be getting out, and Corden gets up, quickly followed by Payne and Malik. He sizes him up from afar. He’s blonde, has brown eyes and is holding a suitcase with his left hand.

« Is this him? »

He’s about to answer when someone else walks ou the door, immediately capturing his attention. He’s tall, really tall. He has dark hair, most probably brown, but he can’t tell for sure from there. It’s not long, hits the back of his neck and frames his face nicely. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and creme-coloured large pants. He’s got rings on almost every finger, and he’s holding a book with his right hand and a guitar case with his left. He looks the part well enough. But what he really notices before anything is the shoe. He’s wearing a pair of boots, except it’s not a pair, because one boot is brown, but the other one is literally golden.

It’s the last person there.

« It’s him, » he says, and immediately Payne and Malik go separate ways. He, however, doesn’t move, keeps watching him.

« Brown hair and a golden boot, » he tells himself as his new target walks in his direction.

Just as he’s close enough, he walks up to him and pulls him into a hug. It’s not a long one, not a warm one either. He just needs to make it look convincing enough. When he steps away, the man looks confused.

« Sorry, mistaken you for someone else, » he says and walks away with no further explanation. He notices, from the corner of his eyes, the blue-eyed man pulling out his phone. He feels more than he hears the click of the camera as he takes pictures of their newly designated victim. Satisfied, he leaves the airport.

He's in the car when he receives a text from Malik. It's a picture of the guy, a confirmation that they're by his side. He zooms in on the guitar case, and the small letters engraved in the leather. 

_H.S_


	2. Chapter 1

« Harry Styles. 26. Single. Musician. Lives in London, Canada Water. Arrived from Munich. »

Winston is looking at a giant screen with pictures of that Harry Styles on display. It’s the same man from the airport, the one with the golden boot. One of Winston’s men stands next to the screen. Tomlinson is there too, standing in the back of the room.

« No file on him? » he asks.

« No, sir. »

« He made a call from the airport, » Tomlinson says. The screen snaps to a picture of him in the airport, telephoning from one of the booths.

« To whom? »

« His dentist. »

They say nothing as more pictures flash on the screen.

« What’s in the guitar case? » Winston asks.

Tomlinson snaps his fingers, the picture shows the insides of the case.

It’s just a guitar.

« You’ve got 24 hours, » Winston tells the other man, « We need to know by tomorrow morning who this man is and what he plans on doing. »

« 24 is not enough. »

« We don’t have time. This guy knows something. »

« We kill him? » His smile is too eager. Tomlinson frowns, but says nothing. It’s not his place to do so.

« Not yet. I need to know about his plans first. Do what you must, but be discreet. I don’t want my best team’s cover to blow.»

« Yes, sir. »

« Payne and Malik don’t know you, so try to avoid them. »

« Yes, sir. »

« Oh, and, Grimshaw? »

« Yes, sir? »

« Why a golden boot? »

Tomlinson almost laughs.

* * *

Harry is in his bath, relaxing from his too long travel when his phone rings. He left it in his room. Cursing, he gets up, dripping wet, and goes to his room, half running and half trying not to slip. He answers, completely oblivious to the fact that his phone had been tracked the second he left that airport.

« Hello? »

« Hello. Hello. Hello. »

« What? » He frowns and look at the screen. The number is hidden. « Who’s on the line? 

The voice answers, but it’s gibberish, he doesn’t understand a word. It sounds German. Or Russian. He has no idea. After a few seconds, though, he picks up something.

« You’re a murderer, » the voice says. « A butcher. You killed, in the most atrocious ways, the poor Prokofiev. »

Oh. Oh. Now he recogizes the poorly executed accent.

« Oh bugger off, Niall, you got me off my bath, » he says, half laughing, half scowling.

« You didn’t recognize me, heh? » Niall laughs on the other end. « We still meeting at four? »

« Sorry Ni, can’t. Not before I go to the dentist, my tooth started buggering me on the flight, got worse when I landed. »

« Oh come on, that can wait! »

« Not really, hurts as fuck. I already called to make an appointment. You know him, it’s Dr. Chester, but he can’t take me before tomorrow morning. Not sure I can go anywhere in the meantime. I’ll just stay home and work on stuff. »

« Don’t care, still meeting at four, » Niall laughs, and he hangs up before Harry can protest. He sighs.

He can’t deal with Niall right now, so he puts his phone down and gets back in his bath.

* * *

« Tap him 24/7. I don’t want to miss the moment C. contacts him. »

« Yes sir, » Grimshaw answers. « We do, however, need to get him out of his appartment. »

Winston seems to think for a moment.

« What’s his dentist’s name again? »

* * *

Later that day, Harry gets a call from the dentist’s office telling him he can come in the afternoon. He gladly leaves him appartment, even if his tooth barely hurts anymore. But as he gets in his car, he realizes it doesn’t hurt at all, and suddenly going to the dentist doesn’t seem as important. He takes a turn, changing his mind, unaware of the chaos his decision causes. He has lunch at a restaurant by the lake, and he enjoys himself, and he feeds the ducks because he finds them funny, he walks around, oblivious to the cameras recording his every move and the people relaying his actions to the team currently in his flat.

When he gets back home, he doesn’t notice any of the hidden bugs.

* * *

« Born in Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, » Louis reports, pictures of a young Harry Styles appearing on the screen. « Has an older sister, Gemma Styles, 29, journalist, who lives in London. » The pictures flash. « Mother is Anne Twist, born Selley. Father is Des Styles. They divorce in 2001, Styles is then seven. She briefly marries a man named John Cox, and then marries Robin Twist in 2013. »

There’s a picture of the little family together at the wedding. Harry’s grin is wide. He looks like a child, Louis thinks.

« Normal childhood. Worked as a cashier in a bakery until he was 16. » Louis’ voice softens when he sees the boy’s dimples in the picture. « Christian. » There’s the picture of the cross tattoo on his hand, and one of his cross necklace. 

« Gay? » Winston asks.

Louis looks at him, a little surprised.

« Bisexual, » he says.

He waits for Winston to comment on it, but he doesn’t, so Louis continues.

« Got in the Royal Birmingham Conservatory at 16. Wins first prize. » There’s a picture of Styles in a tux, his violin in one hand and his prize in the other, proudly smiling at the camera. His bowtie is funny.

« 28 months of military service. Sent back home after violent asthma attacks. Has been giving music lessons for four years. Occasionally joins an orchestra as first violin, and does multiple tours abroad, including the United States. »

« I knew it! » Winston exclaims. « He worked in the US, fucking knew it. »

« None of our American associates know about him, » Grimshaw says.

« Of course not, he’s a super agent, he works in solo, » Winston replies, almost annoyed. « Is that all you found? »

He looks at Louis, but he doesn’t get the chance to speak because Grimshaw jumps in.

« Found this picture in his drawers. »

Said picture appears on the screen. It’s of a blonde woman. She’s laughing, doesn’t see the camera. It’s almost sweet. Louis hasn’t found out who she is yet.

« There’s a message on the back. »

_Deux cœurs qui s’aiment finissent toujours par se rencontrer._

« Two hearts that love each other always end up meeting, » Louis translates.

« Decode that shit, » Winston stays.

« Our men have been on it for an hour, » Louis sighs. He’s not sure what the message could hide. To him, it’s pretty obvious it’s just a love note.

« Do we kill him? » It’s Grimshaw again. Fucking annoying.

« Not yet. Want to see what he’s made of first, » Winston dismisses him, much to Louis’ pleasure. « It’s his eyes, » he adds, looking at the picture of Harry displayed on the screen. « They betray him. »

Louis looks at his eyes. He just finds them sweet.

* * *

Harry is playing a song – he’s been trying to write for a while, but it just won’t come – when someone rings at his door. He opens it, wants to close it as soon as he sees who it is.

He doesn’t.

« _Coucou_. » She’s standing at his door, all smile. She’s beautiful.

« Camille, » he breathes out. Something weighs on his stomach.

« _Chéri_ , » she says. He used to love when she called him like that.

Now it’s just painful.

She gets in without waiting for an invitation, smiles at him. He doesn’t ask her what she’s doing here, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know why she keeps coming, much less why he keeps letting her in, keeps on re-opening the scars he’s been trying to heal.

« How’s your boyfriend? » he asks.

She gives him a bad look.

« He’s fine. How are you? »

She’s got that accent again. Comes back everytime she goes to France. He doesn’t want to think about how much he missed her.

« I’m fine. »

Silence.

« How were your holidays? » he tries.

« Great, » she smiles. « We went to the beach, it was fun. How was your flight? »

« Fine. Kept getting stares, though. I left my shoes at my door at the hotel and someone messed with them, lost one boot. Had to spend the whole flight with a brown boot and a golden one. »

She laughs, and his heart aches.

It won’t happen this time, he tells himself.

It happens.

No one can now, he thinks as she kisses him.

He doesn’t know everyone is already listening.

* * *

« They’re spying on him 24/7, » Corden says. He’s driving Cowell to the office. « There’s a florist’s truck driving around his block all day. Winston’s not dumb, he’ll find out it’s a trap. »

« Winston won’t find shit, because he’s building the trap himself. » Cowell sounds way too proud. « We just put a little piece of cheese and Winston is building the cage. »

« What about the piece of cheese? »

« I’m sorry? »

« What will happen if W. kills the guy? »

« Then he’s fucked. »

That’s when James realizes that was Cowell’s plan all along. Get the bait killed so he can frame Winston.

« You were the one who picked him, » Cowell says when James says nothing. « Brown hair and a gold boot, right? And now you’ve got a problem with that? »

« No, sir, » James says after a while.

He does.

* * *

Niall rings his bell at exactly four. Camille left half an hour ago, after he told her - and himself - that it wasn’t going to happen again. He barely has the time to shower again and get dressed before Niall is dragging him accross the street into a cab. None of them notice the two vehicles behind them, nor the flower truck with Grimshaw in it – Louis has more important things to do than follow him around – nor the black car driven by Payne. Had they known, they might would have found it funny, that Harry’s kind of in the middle, with one side trying to silence him and the other hired to protect him. But they don’t know anything about it, and it’s unbothered that they go into the pub. They don’t care either for the three men that get in at the same moment, and when they leave, hours later, they’re too drunk to realize the three men are leaving as well.

* * *

« Put on the tape with that woman again, » Winston orders Grimshaw.

That woman, Louis found out after some research, is Camille Rowe. She was the one on the picture they found in his flat. She’s french, dated Styles for a year, or maybe more, left him and got with some extremely rich guy whose family owns art galleries and would never have to work a day in his life. Louis doesn’t like her.

The tape starts playing, and Harry and Camille’s voice fill up the truck. They’ve been listening to it for two days now, almost non stop, because Cowell is convinced there’s a secret message hidden somewhere.

They have to go through the part when they fuck, and Louis tries not to listen, he really does, because it’s weird enough having to listen to this with your boss around, but something always draws him into this. Maybe it’s the way Rowe’s voice seems to get inside Harry’s head until he gives in, how her « Chéri »’s turn his groans into moans, until he loses all restraints.

Louis has listened to this recording again and again, at work, at home, and the more he does, the more Harry’s voice fills up his head and his thoughts.

« I can’t do this anymore, Camille, » Harry says, long after. « It’s too fucked up, I can’t. »

Winston is attentive. Louis too, even though he knows that recording by heart, even mouths some parts.

« Don’t say this, » Camille’s voice is low, barely audible. « You don’t mean it. »

« You can’t expect me to spend the rest of my life lying and hiding and pretending that- I’m tired. Please. »

It’s the plea that always gets to Louis, the way his voice breaks at the end, begging, exhausted. He knows what this sounds like, and it’s not a code, not a message. It’s just a broken heart.

« I can’t. »

Louis stops the recording.

« Play it again, from the beginning, » Winston says.

Louis sighs.

* * *

Harry has a gig in two nights. He’s just one of many, it’s not that big of a venue, but he’s still excited. He always is ; having the opportunity to share what he loves, to practically live off his passion (sometimes it’s hard, but so what) is not something everyone has, he’s well aware of it. He’s also aware it’s something he could lose anytime ; he’s not a big name, he’s not a name at all, actually, and if people like him enough to hire him for now, who knows when it will stop?

So he’s sure as hell going to enjoy every moment he gets to have, and make sure everyone enjoys it just as much.

And that’s why he has been rehearsing since the moment he woke up, barely taking breaks to eat something or use the loo, still unaware that he’s not as alone as he would think he is.

To someone who might know the whole story, the scene would be endlessly funny, because there is one moment when he wants to get water while still holding his guitar, and he knows he can’t but he still does, so it’s to no one’s surprise when the glass falls off and shatters, and from that it just goes downhill, because he needs to clean his mess, but for some reason he is still holding onto the guitar, and of course the guitar kicks a vase, and of course in his attempt to clean his second mess he stepps on the shreds of the vase, but it’s fine because he’s wearing shoes.

It’s not so fine, though, because he steps on the bug that was hidden in the vase. That, he doesn’t know, of course.

* * *

He’s the only one who doesn’t. The moment he steps on it, it breaks, and a deafening sounds fills up the floral truck for a few seconds before it is replaced with silence.

Winston looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

« He found a bug, » Grimshaw states, and Louis almost wants to applaud his flair.

« Fuck, » Winston says. « We’re not getting anywhere, he’s been playing with us. Fuck, he’s good. »

Louis knows what’s going to happen next.  
As expected, Grimshaw clears his throat, ready to suggest, once again, to end it, but Winston just holds his hand up and silences him. Louis represses a smile.

« No, we’re going to try something else first, » Winston says, and Louis realizes he’s looking directly at him.

So he’s getting back on the field.

« You, » he’s talking to Grimshaw, « Will go to a shop and rent as many musical instruments as possible, preferably antique. I want everything, percussions, woodwind, string, brass, keybord, guitars, eletric. Have it delivered to the house tomorrow. »

He then turns to Louis.

« You and I, my boy, have a lot of talking to do. »

Louis smiles.

* * *

It’s seven in the afternoon, and Harry is getting ready. He’s a little stressed, but it’s the good kind of stress. He’s leaving in less than ten minutes, so when he hears his bell ringing, he’s a little surprised.

A little worried too.

He hopes it’s not Camille.

He opens the door.

It’s not Camille.

He’s a little speechless.

It’s just that the man at his door is so _pretty_.

« Mr Styles? » he says with a little smile, and Harry thinks he should maybe say something too, because staring without talking might look creepy.

« I-Yeah, hi? »

« I’m sorry if I’m bothering, I can come back later? »

Harry doesn’t know who he is, but he still wants to keep looking at him a little longer.

« No, no, you’re not, sorry I was just- » Was just what? « I’m sorry, do I know you? » he finally remembers to ask.

« Not yet, no. » His voice sounds like glass, Harry thinks. He doesn’t know how, but it does. « I saw an ad for music lessons earlier this morning, it had your info on. » Harry almost forgot about that ad, but right now he couldn’t be happier to have posted it. « I wanted to call but, » He pauses a bit, smiles apologeticly, « I think I lost my phone? » Harry wants to smile too, so he does. And laughs.

« It happens more often than you’d think, » the mans says, but he laughs with him. Harry briefly thinks how pretty the crinkles by his eyes are. « But I don’t live too far so I thought I could come by myself. Is that alright? »

More than alright.

« Yeah, it’s- it’s fine. »

« Can I come in..? »

Harry wants to punch himself.

« Fuck, yeah, of course. Sorry, you just took me by surprise. »

They both get in. Harry can’t take his eyes off of him. He forgets to close the door.

« Can I get you something to drink? »

They’re facing each other.

« No it’s fine, I won’t stay long. »

Why not?

« They’re not for me. The lessons, I mean. » Harry still doesn’t know his name. « They’re for my son. »

A son? Does that mean-

« He’s five. It’s the right age, isn’t it? He loves music. »

Harry can’t find it within himself to answer.

« I’d prefer lessons at home. He’s so young, you know? »

They’re looking at each other.

His eyes are very blue.

Harry knows he’s not the only one feeling the tension. He can’t be.

He doesn’t even leave him time to think of an answer before he breaks eye contact, looking at the wall behind him.

« Oh, my father used to collect instruments too. »

He keeps jumping from subject to subject and Harry is a little lost. A little fascinated too.

« He died a year ago. » That’s sad, Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t really know if it is. « He left me everything. »

« Oh, » is all he can reply.

« I don’t really know much about it if I’m honest, but I think there are some interesting pieces. » Harry just loves the way he speaks. « I could show you, when you come to my place. »

Is he flirting?

He thinks he should stop looking at his lips, but he doesn’t have enough will to transform his thoughts into actions.

« The little one is currently at his mom’s, he only comes home next week. » He must see Harry’s confused look, because he adds, « She and I are separated. »

Oh.

« Oh. »

« Yeah. »

It feels like everything is happening so quickly, but at the same time there’s nothing happening, and Harry still doesn’t know his name.

« I’m not keeping them, though. »

Keeping what?

« I asked someone to come and get them this week. There’s… Too many memories attached to them. »

Oh, the instruments.

« You can still come and have a look at them, if you want. »

A look at what again?

He nods anyway.

« When? » he finally thinks to ask.

« Well, » he looks at him with his big, soft, blue eyes, « Tomorrow’s off the table, » he says like he’s thinking out loud, « I have an appointment on Sunday, I’m working on Mon… What about tonight? » he asks with a little smile.

« Tonight, » Harry echoes. When did they start talking so low? When did they get so close?

« I’ll write you my address, » he says, but he doesn’t move, keeps looking into Harry’s eyes. Harry wonders if it’s too soon to kiss someone you just met five minutes ago. He’s just all over his mind, he’s not even sure he can remember what he was doing before his eyes fell on him.

« Wait, fuck, » he suddenly realizes, breaking the tension, « I forgot I have a concert tonight, fuck. »

« It’s okay, » he replies, and he’s still looking directly into his eyes. « You can come after midnight. »

Harry knows what this implies. He doesn’t want to read too much into it but at this point, he’s pretty sure about what this implies.

Maybe kissing someone after five minutes is not that bad.

« I have to go, now. Can I..? »

Harry doesn’t have to ask him what, because he just leans into him, his hand delicatly lying on Harry’s hip, and he’s trying to remember if he closed the door, if they’re going to kiss, right then and there, but then he feels his hand is his pocket, and less than a second later the moment is broken, and the guy is now standing in front of him with his own phone in hand, typing something in it.

Harry just keeps looking at him, though.

« Here, I wrote down my address on your notes. » Oh. Is Harry allowed to be disappointed? « See you tonight? » Yes, please.

He’s walking away now. Wait. He’s walking away now.

« Wait! » he exclaims. He feels a little stupid. « I don’t know your name. »

« Oh, » he laughs. « It’s Louis. »

Louis.

They smile at each other.

« See you tonight, Louis. »

* * *

« Yeah, he just left, » Malik says into the phone. He and Payne are sitting in the car, watching Harry’s flat. « Never seen him before. Short, fringe, looks a little posh. »


	3. Chapter 2

Harry’s concert goes a little longer than expected, and it’s well past one in the morning when he rings the bell of what is supposed to be Louis’ flat. He’s worried that he might have gotten the wrong address, even though he checked it at least three times on his way there and practically memorised it by now. He’s about to check his phone again when the door opens.

He looks up, and Louis is standing in front of him, his smile so bright Harry’s certain it lights up the whole street.

« Hi, » he says, a little dumbstruck. His mind is all « Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty. » It’s embarrassing.

« Hi, » Louis greets back, voice softer than he remembers. He’s looking at Harry with something tender in his too blue eyes. « You’re here. »

« I am, » Harry says, unable to remove his eyes from him. He looks so good, wearing a black turtleneck shirt and matching pants. There’s not a hit of skin showing, yet Harry finds himself incredibly bothered, and with the darkness that is outside, the lights coming from inside cut his cheekbones so sharply Harry might just keep looking at them all night.

« Come in, please, » Louis says, « Make sure to shut the door behind you. »

Harry has only stepped inside when Louis turns his back on him, and suddenly nothing else matters but him.

The shirt is backless.

« Fuck, » he mutters, his eyes falling on Louis’ naked back. There’s so much to see, his thoughts are running in every direction and his brain might just explode from it.

He’s just gorgeous.

He feels the sudden urge to embrace him, hold his tiny waist against his stomach, kiss the dimples at the bottom of his spine, so small and precious and yet so fucking hot.

« The door, » Louis almost sings as he disappears around the corner of the corridor. That brings Harry back to reality, and he rushes to lock the door, almost running behind him.

« Didn’t have much trouble finding the place? » Louis’ voice comes out from one of the rooms, although Harry can’t tell which. He’s standing by himself in the middle of what he thinks is the living room, Louis’ voice filling up his head.

« Want something to drink? » Louis asks again, and Harry realises he hasn’t even answered his first question. « I’ve got vodka, whiskey, beer, champaign, tequila… »

Harry thinks he’s badly in need of a shot or two of tequila, but he knows better. « A beer would be great, thank you. »

Finally, Louis comes back, holding two bottles of beer.

« Need a glass for that? » he asks, almost teasing. Harry guesses the answer is no.

« No, it’s fine, » he says, and Louis looks satisfied. He hands him the uncapped bottle with a smile, holding up his own.

« Cheers? »

« Cheers, » Harry says, holding up his bottle as well before taking a sip. Louis is still smiling.

« Mind if I..? » Louis asks, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Harry simply nods, looking amazed at the way Louis’ cheeks hollow as he sucks on his cigarette. He can’t stop the rush of thoughts that come with the view.

« Gorgeous… » he says before he can think better.

« Mmh? » There’s a smirk on Louis’ face. Harry’s eyes go wide.

« I meant the... » He looks around, panicked. « The things - the stuff on the wall, the… » He’s babbling, can’t for the life of God remember what they’re called.

« Instruments? » Louis finishes for him.

« Yes! Instruments! » And then, a little embarrassed, « They’re fine pieces. »

« Yeah, I guess they are, » he drags on his cigarette before continuing. « Wouldn’t know the name of half of them, though. I’m rubbish at it, I can play maybe two songs on the piano. »

« I could teach you, » Harry blurts.

Louis’ smile goes softer.

« I’d love that. »

They stay silent after that.

* * *

« Why isn’t he asking him the questions already? »

Winston is spinning in his seat, impatient, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. He’s not alone in the room, half a dozen of his men are surrounding him, all watching the scene before them. It’s one of these giant screens of multiple cameras, like the ones you’d find at a building’s security guy’s office. Except there’s no security guy, and it’s not as much surveillance cameras of a building as it is of Louis’ flat. There’s a screen for every room, every angle, possible. At least three of them are focused on Harry right now.

« He should stick to the script. Why isn’t he sticking to the fucking script? »

The script in question is laid on the desk. It runs for a few pages of one-sided dialogues. The first lines are highlighted ; _« Come in, please »_ , _« Make sure to shut the door behind you »_ , _« Didn’t have much trouble finding the place? »_ , _« Want something to drink? »_. No highlight beyond that, though. He’s going off-script.

* * *

« And when I opened my door the next morning, there was only one boot of each pair! »

Louis laughs, and Harry pretends to drink from his bottle so he can watch him a little longer.

« Fuck, that’s awful! What did you do? »

« What do you think? They were nice enough to leave a right one and a left one, so I just wore that! »

« You wore one brown boot and one golden one for the whole flight? No one said anything? »

« You bet that got me an awful lot of stares, I’m sure some people are still theorizing about it until now. They’re thinking ‘Who was this guy? Why was his boot golden? Is he a magician? A super secret agent?’ »

Louis flinches, but Harry doesn’t notice.

« You kinda look like one, » Louis says after a while.

« A magician? »

« No, » he laughs, « a ‘super secret agent’. You’d be good for the job, tall and handsome and mysterious and all that. Never thought about it? »

« You think I’m handsome? » Harry asks, completely ignoring the question, his cheeks slightly flushed.

« Mmh. » Louis plays with his beer a little before looking up at Harry. « Yeah, handsome’s the word. Very charming too. »

« You forgot funny, » Harry tries to joke, but his voice comes out weaker than expected.

« Definitely not funny, » Louis says with a smile, and they both laugh. « But I can do with that. »

« Yeah? » Harry croaks.

« Yeah. »

He doesn’t add anything, takes Harry’s beer from his hand and drinks from it, pulling his head back. Harry tries not to look at his throat.

He fails.

« That’s mine, » he says, voice weak, to try and distract himself.

« Sorry, » Louis says once he’s finished drinking. He doesn’t seem sorry at all. There’s a drip of beer on his lips, and he licks it away, and Harry really, really tries to look away.

He fails at that too.

« Close your eyes, » Louis says out of the blue, and Harry wants to ask why, because that’s a strange request, really, but for some reason he doesn’t and just closes his eyes.

He hears Louis shift next to him, hears him put the bottle on the table. He smells him before he feels him, then. He smells the cocoa butter first, the cigarettes and a hint of vanilla, and he doesn’t have the time to take in how good it all fucking smells together before he feels his weight on his lap.

And he can’t keep his eyes closed, couldn’t if he tried, because Louis is sitting on top of him, so he opens them, and Louis is giving him that look, that pout that Harry just wants to kiss away.

« Told you to close your eyes, » he scolds.

Harry really wants to say something, but he finds himself mesmerized by Louis’ lips, can’t take his eyes off them, follows them with every slight move, and Louis might have noticed, because he licks them ever so slightly, and Harry’s attention is back on him.

« Kiss me, » he whispers, and Harry might just go crazy, but instead he slides his fingers in his hair like he wanted to ever since he got there.

He pulls him closer, never once looking anywhere else but Louis’ eyes, until he can feel his breath against his lips, until he’s too warm to ignore, until he can almost taste him, taste the coconut and the vanilla, and all he has to do is move forward a little, so he does just that.

Louis closes his eyes just as their lips touch, and so does Harry.

He feels the vanilla, and he feels the coconut, and he also feels the hint of mint behind the slight cigarette taste and that last drop of beer still somewhere on his lips. He tastes all of it, all of Louis.

He tugs on his hair, and it’s almost magical how immediate Louis’ reaction is, it’s like he’s melting into his touch. He lets out the softest moan Harry has ever heard, eyes shut and mouth open, his hips grinding against Harry’s like he’s desperate to have more.

« Bedroom? » he asks, out of breath, and Harry doesn’t even know why he bothers asking.

« Where? » he simply says, and his fingers are tracing small circles on his naked back.

« First room on the left, » he whispers, and his lips are back on Harry’s again.

Harry gets up, and Louis automatically wraps his legs around his waist, not willing to break the kiss. Harry smiles against his lips, his hands falling under his ass to hold him up.

That’s how they get to the room, Harry trying not to drop him, too distracted by the way Louis’ tongue seems to chase his. He almost throws him on the bed, falls by his side and they get in a fit of laughter and sloppy kisses. The laughter quickly dies, though, because Harry can’t get enough of Louis’ taste, and Louis is on top of him again, opening his shirt up button by button like he has all the time in the world, like Harry is not about to combust at any moment. He’s not sure how long he can take it, so he puts his hands on Louis’, stops him in his track. He grabs his wrists, maybe squeezes them a little harder than he has to. Louis stops moving, all his attention is on him, and that’s all Harry needs to make them roll on the bed, swiftly getting on top of Louis.

« Fuck you, » Louis grunts.

« In a minute, if you’re good enough, yeah ? » he answers, unable to stop the grin that takes over his face. He tries to hide it by kissing Louis’ jaw, but then he can’t get enough of that either, can’t stop sucking on the soft skin until it turns purple, following some pattern he can’t really see, only guided by Louis’ delightful sighs.

« Off, » he says when he’s stopped in his track but the collar of Louis’ shirt. He’s about to take it off himself, but this time it’s Louis who stops him.

« Wait, » he says, and his voice is weak, a little timid. « Can you… Can we turn the lights off? Please? »

Harry doesn’t know what to say at first, because he thinks it’s a weird request, not one he was expecting. He looks at Louis again, and he looks almost worried, like he’s panicking about something, and Harry doesn’t want that, so he kisses him for an answer, slower and maybe sweeter. He’s still kissing him as he gets out of the bed, Louis getting up with him, holding onto the back of his neck and not ready to break it yet. He has to, though, and Harry gives him an apologetic smile, holding his hand and kissing the inside of his wrist instead. He turns his back on him, walks to the switch and turns the lights off, and in the dark he doesn’t see how Louis’ cheeks have gone pink, how he’s holding onto his wrist.

« Better? » he teases, although he just wants Louis to answer so he can direct himself to the bed next to him.

He doesn’t. He hears a shuffle on the bed, but Louis doesn’t say anything, and Harry is just standing in the middle of the room, trying to remember where said bed was.

He doesn’t have to. Instead, he feels Louis’ breath on the back of his neck, and it makes his cock twitch. Suddenly he doesn’t mind the dark. He wants to turn and face him, but Louis puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him. He rests his other hand on Harry’s waist, gets on the tip of his toes to reach his ear.

« Want you to fuck me, » he whispers. « Think you can do that? »

This time, Harry is able to turn around, and even in the dark he still finds Louis’ lips.

They kiss their way to the bed, and when Harry lays Louis on it, it’s much more gentle, much more careful. He helps him take his shirt off, lets his lips trail along his neck, sucking on and biting the soft skin just to keep hearing the soft moans that leave his mouth.

« Harry, » Louis breathes.

« Yeah? »

« Want to touch you. »

« Touch me. »

And he does just that. There’s shivers all over Harry’s body the second Louis’ hands are on him, and for a while he’s unable to do anything but melt under his touch.

* * *

« What the fuck is happening? »

The others are trying as best as they can to suppress their laughter while Winston seems ready to combust right then and there. He’s got his eyes fixed on the black screen before him, scandalized by the sounds coming out of the speakers.

« Is anyone going to give me a fucking explanation? »

« Sounds like he’s doing something to him, sir. I think he’s enjoying it, »Grimshaw says with a grin.

« Tell him to follow the _fucking script_! » he almost screams, holding onto the desk like his life depends on it.

« Should we interrupt them? » Grimshaw asks, biting back a laugh.

« Are you fucking crazy? Just, for fuck’s sake, tell me when it’s over, » Winston answers before leaving the room.

* * *

« Are you gonna fuck me, Harry? » Louis moans under him, « Make me come all over myself? »

« Quiet, baby, » Harry groans, because Louis’ voice drives him insane and he’s still coming down, still breathless from when Louis’ mouth was around his cock.

« You’re so fit, » Louis husks, unbothered, « So hot. Want to feel you inside me, all over me. »

Harry can’t think of an answer, so he kisses his collarbones, and it makes Louis giggle. He _giggles_ , and Harry is mesmerized.

He brushes his fingers over Louis’ lips and he opens his mouth right away, closing it around his fingers. Harry just watches him, he watches him suck on his fingers, trying to make out the outline of his face from the faint lights outside the window.

He takes his fingers off, let them slide over Louis’ naked body. He manages to make out some black lines over his chest and arms.

« Tattoos? » he asks.

Louis hums in response, brushes his fingers over Harry’s butterfly.

« You too, » he whispers.

« Tell me about yours. This one, » he kisses Louis’ chest where it’s darker than the rest, his fingers falling down Louis’ back.

« _It is what it is_ , » Louis says, « Got it years ago. I’ll let you see it later, if you want. »

« Want to see all of them, » Harry answers. « Want to see all of you. »

And just like that, he’s got one finger inside Louis.

And just like that, he decides Louis’ moans are the prettiest thing on earth.

* * *

« I think they’re fucking, » Zayn tells Liam. They’re sitting outside Louis’ building, two packs of beers between them. Zayn is holding a pair of binoculars in one hand, an empty can of beer in the other, while Liam is diving deep into a pack of crisps.

« Think I gotta tell the boss? » he says, mouth full.

« I guess? » Zayn answers, unsure. « I’m not the one who will. »

* * *

Cowell is sitting in his room, watching TV, when he gets a call from Corden.

« They’re having sex, sir, » Corden says onto the phone.

« See? Your little _protégé_ has some compensations, after all. »

Corden hangs up.

* * *

« I love the butterfly, » Louis decides after a while. The lights are on again, and he’s been looking at Harry’s tattoos for a while, trying to decide which one he prefers.

« The mermaid is funny too. The birds are like mine, » he smiles.

He lifts up his arm to show Harry his own tattoo. Harry kisses it instead, and Louis is blushing again.

« Why the « silver spoon » one? »

He knows Harry didn’t come from a particularily wealthy background, so it surprises him a little.

« I just wanted to always remember that I’m one of the lucky ones. Not that I have a lot of money or anything like that, just that I’m lucky enough to not struggle with food, or shelter, or money. I can live my life doing what I love, playing music and traveling the world, you know. »

Louis is silent for a while. He looks at Harry, his soft eyes, too wide and too green and too innocent to hide anything else.

« Why a butterfly? » he kisses his tummy.

« Because I used to dream of becoming a butterfly. »

« Why ? »

« Because I wanted to flee out the window and not fall on the ground. »*

« You’re quite a character, Harry Styles. »

« Maybe, » Harry smiles. « It’s your turn to tell me about yours. »

« Yeah? Which one? »

He watches as Harry trails his fingers over his tattoos. He pauses on the dagger one, and Louis waits for the question, but instead Harry holds up his own arm and shows his rose tattoo.

« We match, » he says with a smile.

« We do. »

« Louis, are you stalking me? »

Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

« What do you mean? »

« All these tattoos can’t be pure coincidence, you even got a compass. »

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

« Maybe I am, » he laughs, « Maybe it’s faith. »

« I like that, » Harry says. And then : « I picked the tattoo. »

« Yeah? Which one? »

« Here, » he points his fingers at Louis’ arm, right under his dagger.

« _Given a chance_ , » he reads out loud. « Why? »

« It’s… » Louis wasn’t expecting him to pick that one, so he has a little trouble making up a story. He decides to go for honesty. « There was a time, a very long time, when I was struggling a lot. Left home very young, lived on the street for a while. I didn’t finish school, so I didn’t really have any qualifications for work, I just did some small jobs here and there, barely enough to get food, sometimes get a room for a few weeks. No matter how hard I tried I just… Wasn’t enough, I guess, to get myself out of that hole. Some nights I really thought I would die, sleeping in the cold, with no friends, no family, no money, no food, just the clothes on my back, really. »

He stops for a few seconds. It’s never easy to remember that, no matter how many years have passed. He’s surprised to feel Harry’s hands on his back, his fingers tracing slow circles to soothe him.

« But then I met some people who… I guess they saw something in me. Gave me a home, made sure I was never hungry, and taught me enough to make me a part of the team. I’ve been working for them ever since. »

« How long ago was that? »

« Over ten years. Probably more. »

« Oh Louis, » Harry says, and it makes Louis look up. His eyes are sad, and he doesn’t really understand why.

« You were just a kid. »

Oh.

« Yeah, well. Everyone has a little bit of a tragic backstory, huh? »

Harry doesn’t answer to that, and Louis remembers Harry’s story never was really tragic. He suddenly feels a little guilty, maybe because he knows it’s the same guilt Harry is currently feeling. 

« Sorry, » he says with a sad smile.

« Don’t be, » Harry returns his smile, « This is what this is for, after all, right? »

He points at his silver spoon tattoo, and maybe Louis wants to cry a little bit.

* * *

« You know what? » Harry suddenly asks.

Hours have passed. They’re now laying on the bed, looking at the ceiling and telling each other random stories, random thoughts and random jokes.

« No? »

« I’m gonna tell you something I’ve never told anyone. »

The words bring Louis back to a reality he almost forgot about. It’s a little painful.

« Yeah? »

« I’ve got a secret. »

He perks up on one elbow.

« Really? »

« I’m not just a musician or a singer, » Harry says.

« Yeah? » His voice comes out hoarse. Part of him doesn’t want to hear this.

« I compose. »

« What? »

« Yeah, I’m a composer too. But no one knows. »

Louis falls back on the bed, almost wants to laugh. He fumbles on the bedside until he finds his pack of cigarettes.

« I’m writing an opera, » Harry continues, unaware of Louis’ state. « It took me three years. I’m still working on it, I’ll release it when it’s polished. Fuck, you know what ? I’m gonna play it to you? »

« _What_? » Louis almost shouts, his unlit cigarette between his lips.

Harry doesn’t answer and gets out of the room in a rush. He comes back with one of the violins that were on the wall.

« Come on, Harry, you’re not going to play violin _now_! »

« You’re gonna be the first to hear it! »

« Harry! »

But he doesn’t listen and just starts playing. It’s loud, and rushed, and Louis automatically hates it. He never liked opera to begin with, but listening to it at four A.M somehow makes it ten times worse. He’s praying for it to stop. Just stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

« Stop! »

It stops.

Harry puts the violin down.

« You don’t like it? » he asks. He sounds a little hurt.

« No, it’s great, but it’s not the right time for that! »

« You don’t like it, » Harry states. He sits on a sofa next to the bed.

« I do! But how can one enjoy an opera at four in the morning! »

Harry stays quiet. He fumbles a bit with the violin.

« Are you mad at me? » Louis asks with a little voice.

« Not at all, » he lies.

« Come back to bed, then. »

Finally, after what feels like hours, Harry gets up. He sits on the edge of the bed, still not looking at Louis.

« You _are_ mad at me, » Louis smiles.

« I’m not. »

« Come here, then. »

He holds Harry’s hand in his until he’s back next to him. Harry’s still pouting, but Louis quickly kisses it away.

* * *

« Fuck, they’re back at it _again_. »

Winston turns off the screen, takes his earphones out.

« He won’t get anything out of him tonight, fuck. »

He storms out of the room, and Grimshaw finally lets out the laugh he’s been holding back for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a line from a french Draco/Harry fic by Didi Gemini. It's called Papillon, and it's on Fanfiction.net !


	4. Chapter 3

When Harry leaves in the morning, he’s barely slept at all. But Louis watches him leave from the window, and he feels more alive than ever. He’s giddy, and somewhere in his pocket there is Louis’ number, somewhere in his head there’s a promise of seeing him again, and he feels light. There aren’t many explanations to what happened, really, so he settles for faith, because destiny is the only thing that could explain how well they seem to fit in each other’s arms.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t even hear the footsteps behind him. His mind is full of « Louis, Louis, Louis », so he doesn’t notice something clicking behind him. Had he paid a little more attention, he would have felt something was off, maybe turned to look at Louis who was still looking at him from the window. He would have seen his worried, desperate eyes, and then he would have looked at his side and realized someone was holding him at gunpoint.

But he didn’t turn. He still doesn’t. He keeps walking, carefree, and when he turns a street, the man behind him is pulling the trigger, but not quick enough because someone comes behind him, and with a swift blow at the head, makes him fall unconscious. As Harry keeps walking, the newcomer kneels next to the unconscious man and unloads his gun. He then pulls out his own phone, dials the most recent number.

« Liam? » Malik says on the other end.

« Took one down, gotta take care of that. Take it from there. »

* * *

It’s not until Louis sees Payne dragging one of Winston’s men by his feet to a car nearby that he allows himself to breathe. Harry is safe.

« Fuck, » Winston says, standing next to Louis. He isn’t half as pleased as Louis, though.

He can’t help but laugh, and Winston shoots him one of those killing glares. Louis is far from impressed, though.

« Suits you well to laugh, you wasted me a whole fucking night, » he bursts out at Louis.

« _Me?_ » he simply says, only slightly offended. « And what exactly was I supposed to do, mh? 

« Get him on our fucking side! Cowell is paying him, you should have given him more! Get info out of him, strike a deal, do anything that would have been the least bit useful! Can’t you use your fucking head for once?»

« When? » Louis replies, voice a little louder. « When the fuck was I supposed to do that? He spent the night talking out of his ass, playing violin ‘til god knows when, talking about his fucking opera and, somehow between all that, still finding the time to fuck me! » His chest is rising quickly, and his hands slightly shaking, and he hates that. He’s aware he lost his calm, and it shouldn’t have happened. It only seems to fuel Winston’s anger, though.

« I didn’t see you fucking complaining, did I? »

« I, » Louis starts, but he stops himself for a second until he’s got himself together, « Only did what I was ordered to do, » he finishes, voice noticeably lower. »

« You were _ordered_ to get him to talk. »

« _‘‘Do anything’’_ , isn’t that what you told me? »

« I told you to do whatever it takes to uncover him. Usually, when a guy whores himself out, he gets payment in return. Can’t say the same about you, now, can I? »

Louis breathes deeply, because it’s all he can do. His knuckles are white from how tight his fists are, but he manages to release them. _In and out_ , he thinks as he tries to calm himself.

« Sir, » he tries.

« What? » Winston snaps.

« That might be just an impression, but he doesn’t strike me as a professional. »

« I don’t give a fuck about your impressions, Tomlinson. »

Right. Well.

He isn’t lying, though. As wary as he’d been the whole night, nothing about Harry even hinted to a double life. The guy was practically an open book, and Louis would be surprised if he’d ever even told a single lie in his life.

Not that any of that mattered to Winston, apparently.

« Put on something decent and get to the shop, » he finally says before storming off.

Louis looks down at himself. Oh, right. He’s wearing Harry’s underwear.

* * *

« We won’t get anything done with Payne and Malik around, » Grimshaw says.

They’re all at the shop, including the man Payne had taken down a few hours earlier. They found him lying a few blocks away from the flat they’d rented for Louis. Broken leg, few limbs and ribs broken as well, enough to ensure he wouldn’t be working any time soon, but still keeping him alive. Obviously, Cowell didn’t want any unecessary deaths. Too much paperwork, if Louis has to take a guess.

« So get rid of them, » Winston says, like there is nothing more obvious.

« Easier said than done, » Grimshaw groans, looking at the nearly unconscious man besides him.

Winston opens his mouth to reply when someone else bursts in.

« It’s Corden sir, » the man says, « he’s on the phone with Cowell. »

They don’t waste a second and follow him to the recording room. The man unplugs the headphones so they can all listen.

« I need you to cancel my plans for today, » Cowell says. « And I’m afraid I’ll use you as a chauffeur once more, if you don’t mind. I have an appointment at the ministry in an hour. »

« Really? » Corden sounds confused.

« Our agent has finished his work here, it seems. He’ll give us his report then. I’m telling you, James, _this is it_. » He sounds smug. Louis turns to Winston, only to find him white as a sheet.

« Find him, » he tells Grimshaw, « and get rid of him. »

« What about Payne and Malik? » Grimshaw still asks.

« I don’t give a fuck about Payne and Malik. You’ve got an hour. »

For a moment, Grimshaw seems about to say something, but he simply nods and leaves. One by one, they all leave, until Louis is left alone with his thoughts. He needs to take a decision.

And he needs to do it quick.

* * *

« Hello, » Harry almost sings onto the phone, not bothering to check the number. No one answers. « Louis? » he tries, because he remembers he still has his number in one of his pockets and it’s the first person that comes to his mind. The only person he can think of, really.

« No, » the other person says, and he recognizes the voice instantly. « Camille. _Who_ is Louis? » She sounds less curious than wary.

Alright, then.

* * *

« So you won, mh? » James tells Cowell, eyes fixed on the road as he’s driving him to nowhere, because they’re definitely not going to the ministry. Cowell simply laughs. « Winston is loosing his mind, » he continues angrily, « and the poor guy has all the targets on his back. »

« Tell Payne and Malik to cease their surveillance and go home, » Cowell says, ignoring his statement.

« Cease their surveillance? He won’t stand a chance by himself! »

« Eyes on the road. »

Suddenly, Cowell’s smile makes James uneasy.

* * *

« Hello? » Liam greets onto the phone. They’ve been sitting in the car since the guy they’re supposed to watch got back home, keeping an eye on him.

« Hi, it’s Corden. The boss is asking you to tighten your watch on our guy. They’ll probably try something this morning. »

« Fine, sir. » He hangs up and turns to Zayn, who’s eyeing him up curiously. « Looks like we got work to do. »

At the same moment, they hear the sound of an engine. There’s a car that stops before the building they’re watching. Two men get out, but they don’t get in the building, walk all the way around it.

« They’re taking the fire escape, _fuck_ , » Liam says, but Zayn is already out of the car and going after them.

* * *

This time, when Harry’s phone rings, he’s not as happy as before. He does check the screen, this time, but he doesn’t recognize the number. It can only be one person, though. It’s been less than half an hour since he hung up with Camille, and he doesn’t think he has the energy to go for another round. It’s always been hard for him to deny her anything, and he’s not sure he can be as firm if she keeps tugging on him. And using different numbers, apparently.

« Hi, » he reluctantly says.

« Harry? »

He feels his heart smile.

« Louis? »

« Harry, we need to talk. It’s important. I don’t have time to explain, you have to trust me on this, please. I’m at the café next to your place, you know the one? Meet me there as soon as possible, please. »

He doesn’t let him answer, though, because he already hung up. Harry is confused, and he can feel something off, and Louis’ voice was weird, but he asked him to trust him, so he decides he’ll do just that.

* * *

Nick manages to get in without much difficulties. He peeks through the window to make sure the guy – Harry Styles – is not in the room, opens it and jumps inside. Greg follows right away, quickly dusts himself off and pulls out his gun. Nick is already leading the way. It’s an easy job, really, he doesn’t get what all the fuss is about. He can hear Styles running around somewhere in the flat, frantic, and it almost makes him smile. Nothing to hurry about, he thinks. Wherever he’s planning to go, it’s very unlikely that he’d get there.

He’s about to turn the handle when he hears something behind him.

« Tss, tss, » the voice says, and he knows immediately that it’s not Greg, because Greg is right beside him. He turns, slowly, sees Greg do the same from the corner of his eye, until they’re face to face with Payne and Malik. _Great_.

Malik smiles, his gun pointed at him. Payne has Greg cornered as well, and he already knows it’s not going to end well.

« C’mon, » he tries, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, « We’re not going to kill each other, are we? »

« We’re doing the same job, after all, » Greg adds. Malik and Payne don’t seem to share the same sense of humor, though, and the joke falls flat. From there, it’s only silence.

It’s the four of them facing each other, with all four guns pointed at each other’s faces. The situation is getting more tense by the second, and no one dares to move anymore.

* * *

« Keys, keys, keys, » Harry mumbles, looking around like a crazy man. He finally spots said keys and takes them with a victorious smile before running to the door.

And if he slams the door a little too loudly on his way out, well, it’s not going to hurt anyone.

* * *

It all happens in a flash. There’s a loud bang outside, and three louder bangs inside. The second after, Zayn looks down at his own gun, still fuming, with wide eyes. He was first to shoot, mistaking the sound of the door shutting for a gunshot. It seems to have taken his opponent by surprise, because he’s lying on the floor, most likely dead already. He takes a look at the other guy who doesn’t seem any better, and panic races through his body. He feels cold, suddenly, and unable to move, but he forces himself to turn to the side, anyway, praying to whatever gods that would hear him that his fears wouldn’t come alive.

Liam is not standing there anymore.

Liam is lying on the ground.

Liam is not moving.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. But then-

Liam is _breathing_.

He almost screams in relief.

* * *

Harry is looking everywhere, but Louis is nowhere to be found. He’s aware he probably looks like a madman right now, and he might just as well be. He’s starting to wonder if, in his eagerness to see Louis again, he hasn’t just imagined it all. He’s not that crazy, right?

« Hi, sorry, can I ask you something? » he asks one of the waiters. « There was a man here, maybe five minutes ago, waiting for me. His name is Louis, I’m looking for him. »

« Sorry, I don’t think I can hel- » he starts, but Harry cuts him off. « Please? He’s kind of short, got blue eyes and he has that, like, northern accent. Can’t miss him. »

« Well, » the waiter seems to think for a moment, « There was a guy who came in but he left right after. »

« He left? » Harry echoes, unsure.

« Yup. Was on the phone with someone, but then some guys came in, said something to him and they left together. I think they got in a car but I can’t help you much with that, sorry. »

« It’s alright, thanks a lot, » Harry says absentmindedly. The waiter shoots him a sympathetic look.

* * *

« There’s been three victims, sir, » Corden tells Cowell. He’s only half listening. « Two of Winston’s men died. Payne was shot as well, but it was at the shoulder. He’s on his way to the hospital as he speaks. »

Cowell perks up at that.

« _Payne_? »

« Yes, but don’t worry, sir, Styles is safe. »

« I thought I told you to tell them to cease their surveillance? » He lifts an eyebrow, peeking at Corden with an unimpressed look.

« Oh, really? I must have misheard you, sir. I told them to reinforce it, » he says, feigning innocence.

« You probably did mishear, yes. It doesn’t matter anyway. Winston is on his way to Styles’ place. Seems like it’s going to end up with a good old face to face. »

He smiles brightly at Corden.

* * *

« Malik? »

« Yes sir, » Zayn replies onto the phone.

« I need you to go back there immediately. Winston is on his way, don’t let him get near our guy. »

« Yes sir. »

* * *

Harry is looking through his window, his phone in hand, when he sees him. He almost doesn’t notice him, at first, but there, on the other side of the road, there’s a man getting out of a cab, and it’s _him_. It’s Louis. He knows it’s Louis.

He doesn’t think, rushes outside to get to him. As he’s running down the stairs, the elevator opens at his floor.

* * *

He needs to see Harry.

They scolded him when they found him at the café. It was almost a funny scene, if it wasn't for the gravity of the situation. They probably had an idea as to what his intentions were. Not so good of an idea, though, because they simply dropped him off at the shop before leaving again, which was all he needed, so he hopped on the first cab he found and gave Harry’s address.

And now he’s finally there again.

He pays the driver, tells him to keep the change, and practically runs to the other side of the street.

Then he sees the car next to the building, and he is forced to slow down.

The same men as earlier are waiting for him.

« I thought we were clear. Mr Winston doesn’t want you here. »

Louis doesn’t say anything. He's angry, and desperate, and there's a feeling of defeat that's taking over him.

« Get in. »

It’s not a question, and Louis can’t delay it. He gets in the car reluctantly. They take off, but then he wants to scream, because Harry is there, right there at the door, and Harry _sees_ him.

Harry is running after him.

Harry is running after a car at full speed.

* * *

Winston gets out of the elevator with his hand in his pocket. He immediately notices that Styles’ door is open. Wary, he pushes it slowly, peeking inside. No one is there. He takes out his gun, walking inside.

* * *

Harry is too far away, now, Louis knows he can’t catch them. He weighs his options, not even sure he has any. He is not armed anymore, they are. He is in the backseat alone, but the doors are locked, and he can’t get out. There is only one solution, really, if he wants Harry to stay alive.

He doesn’t take the time to think, too afraid to change his mind. He jolts away from his seat, puts a hand on the steering wheel and turns it as hard as he can. They weren’t expecting him to do that, apparently, because the driver doesn’t react fast enough and the car runs directly into a wall.

* * *

Winston is sitting in one of Styles’ armchairs. He has it turned so it could face the door, holding his gun tightly in his hand while he waits for him to come back. He Always had a flair for drama.

« Tss, tss, » someone says, but it’s not coming from the door. It’s from behind.

He turns around in panic, and it’s Malik who’s standing in a corner. He holds his weapon up, but Malik is quicker, shoots right through his hand.

« I do apologize, sir, » Malik says, aware he’s shooting one of his superiors. It’s almost ironic. He walks around him until he’s facing him and points at his chest.

Another gunshot.

* * *

Louis’ head is dizzy, and his limbs hurt when he moves. He needs to, though. He gets up, gritting his teeth with pain, and looks at the two men at the front. They’re badly injured, but at least one of them is still breathing. Not without difficulty, he manages to reach the front and unlocks the door. He gets away, but then has an afterthought and opens the door. He shuffles inside the driver’s pocket until he finds his handgun and takes it. From then, it’s just a matter of running.

* * *

Winston is still alive when James gets there. He won’t make it, though, and they both know it. He dismisses Malik, asks him to go look after Payne, which he gladly does, and then it’s only the two of them.

« Corden, » Winston whispers like every breath is killing him a little more. James almost feels sad for the man. He’s sure he’s not so bad, deep down. Not that any of them are any good. « The man with the golden boot, » he manages to say, « Who is he? »

James is aware he is using his last breaths to find out the truth. He owes him that, at least.

« He’s _a fool’s trap_ , sir. »

* * *

He’s walking back home, sweaty and defeated, when he hears Louis calling him. He thinks he imagined it, at first, but Louis’ voice becomes more persistant, and then he turns and he sees Louis running towards him, and he doesn’t think, he doesn’t think at all when he runs to him as well, and when he crushes his body against him, hugging him like his life depends on it, he doesn’t think how weird it is that he’s only known him for a couple of hours, because this, this _feels right_.

« Fuck, I was so scared for you, Harry, » Louis mumbles against his neck. Harry pulls back to look at him, and he notices for the first time the bruises on his face.

« Are you okay? What happened to you? » he asks, panicking.

« I’m alright, » Louis laughs. Or maybe cries. « But I have so much to tell you, Harry. So many things you don’t know. »

Harry doesn’t hear him. He lifts his fingers to his face, caresses his bottom lip with worry.

« You’ve got blood on here, » he says. « Does it hurt? »

« Kiss it better, » Louis replies with a teary smile, and really, what can Harry do but oblige? 

* * *

« Do you really have to go back so soon, though? » Niall whines, « I barely got to see you. »

« Yeah, well, can’t really say no to an opportunity like that, » Harry says. He feels bad lying to Niall, but he thinks it’s better if he doesn’t know anything. Word spread to the media about Winston’s death, and it’s only a matter of days now, a couple weeks at best before he gets in trouble. Not that he’s asked for it. For any of it.

« And remind me why your boyfriend couldn’t come to say goodbye? »

« I told you, Louis wasn’t my boyfriend. We were just fooling around for a bit, and he had to go back to France last Week anyway. »

« He’s french? »

« Yes..? »

Niall doesn’t seem the least bit convinced, but to his credit, he doesn’t insist.

« Alright, I think that’s your flight. Munich, right? » he says, reading on the board.

« Yup. Thanks for coming, Ni. I’ll call you as soon as I land, promise. »

He hugs him tight, because he knows he’s going to miss him a lot more now. Niall seems to notice, because he holds him just as tight, and when he pulls back, he can’t quite look him in the eyes.

« Take care, mate. »

« You too. »

He watches him walk away as Harry walks inside where a man is waiting for him with his suitcase a trolley. He tips the employee with a smile, and he hands him the trolley. He waits until Niall is out of sight before he leans.

« You okay in here? » he whispers to the suitcase.

« I’d be better in your arms, » Louis’ voice comes out, and Harry can’t repress his smile.

« Only a few more minutes and I’ll let you out, » he teases.

Louis only groans in response.

« Do you love me? » he asks, smug.

« I love you, » Louis replies, and Harry can hear his smile in his voice. He pushes the trolley all the way to the gates.

There’s a voice on the speakers right then.

« Flight BA726 to Tokyo is now boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Thank you. »

Harry’s smile is bright.

He always wanted to go to Japan.


End file.
